


Shots of Jupiter

by arsons



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Humor, M/M, POV Outsider, Party Games, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsons/pseuds/arsons
Summary: Saihara had just decided to diffuse the situation when Ouma walked straight up to Momota, took the glass out of his hand, and knocked it back.“Ouma-kun!” Saihara said in dismay."Holy shit!" Momota laughed, nearly doubling over. He'd looked confused the second Ouma approached him, but he seemed delighted with the results.





	Shots of Jupiter

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally drafted as: Saihara Has A Bad Time, and he watches his friends make questionable decisions; also, iruma is screaming, so, good luck.

Saihara was staring fixedly into his beer when Iruma screamed, “Alright, fuckheads, listen up!”  
  
“Jeez,” Akamatsu whispered from next to him, and Saihara started at her voice so close to his ear. “Don’t you think she’s had enough, Saihara-kun? Even Shirogane-san is doing much better, and she was falling all over herself earlier…”  
  
It was true: Saihara directed his gaze to Shirogane a few people to his right, and she was looking far less flushed, albeit a bit giggly—and, though it did not seem evident to her, missing her cardigan. She leaned close to whisper something to Amami, who blinked calmly for a few seconds, then laughed at her words.  
  
“Saihara-kun?” Akamatsu asked, and Saihara snapped back to attention. He certainly hadn’t had enough to consider himself inebriated, but he was feeling enough of a buzz to lose track of himself every once in a while.  
  
“I’m alright,” Saihara whispered back to Akamatsu, then realized that hadn’t been her question. “Uh, I mean… I don’t know, actually. Did you see how much she drank?”  
  
“Two shots in the kitchen ten minutes ago, and that was on top of everything else she had earlier.”  
  
Saihara sighed, directing his attention back to Iruma. She was still waving her arms wildly, trying to capture the attention of her distracted classmates. “…She’ll be okay, don’t you think?” Saihara asked Akamatsu, turning to glance back to her. In the dim, blueish lighting, her features appeared the tiniest bit skewed. “It’s...not too far from her normal self. As long as we get her water after this, I think that…”  
  
“You’re probably right,” Akamatsu finished for him, though she still looked a bit concerned. “Eh, I think she’s got a bit of a reputation for this kind of thing. She always brags to the girls about keg-stands…”  
  
Saihara swallowed his laughter to glance around the room. Other than Iruma, no one else appeared sloppily and evidently drunk—well, at least no one present. For the past—four hours, Saihara confirmed on his phone, the time shortly after midnight—he had watched his classmates devolve into various states of intoxication, and it was Iruma’s specifically that had collected them all into a wide circle in the middle of Gonta’s living room. Actually, it was her sobriety, too; Monday morning, Gonta had approached Saihara and asked if he were doing anything over the weekend.  
  
“See, Gonta’s parents are heading out of town for some days,” Gonta had said, looking slightly embarrassed. Saihara smiled encouragingly at him and nodded for Gonta to continue. “And ever since the…incident, Gonta hasn’t liked spending time alone without his family. So, Gonta was wondering if Saihara-kun would—“  
  
“What the fuck did he just say!?”  
  
Iruma had come stumbling out of the girls’ room, half a face of makeup applied, holding a coated wand of mascara. Saihara blinked at her odd appearance and said nothing as she stomped over, pointing the thing at Gonta. “No, I’m serious. What the fuck did he say?”  
  
“Ah, Gonta,” Gonta started, then blinked at Iruma as well. “…Is everything alright with Iruma-san’s face?”  
  
“Fuck that for now!” Iruma shouted, waving the question off. Other students in the hallway were beginning to shoot them odd looks. “Did you fucking say that your parents are out of town this weekend?”  
  
“Well,” Gonta said, still looking thoroughly confused, “Gonta’s parents are—“  
  
“Ha! I fuckin’ knew it!” Iruma cheered. Saihara remained silent while she did what was probably meant to be some sort of victory dance, but more resembled a dying animal that had an extra leg. “Big Dick’s got a whole fuckin’ mansion to himself this weekend!”  
  
“Iruma-san,” Saihara finally started, his face slightly red from the attention they’d attracted. He kept his voice low in hopes that Iruma would do the same. “Why are you…” he searched for a word, “celebrating? Did you want to join us as well—“  
  
“Uh, fuck yeah I’m gonna join ya!” Iruma confirmed, now pointing towards Saihara. Her voice remained as loud as ever. “We’re all gonna fuckin’ join ya! I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for years!”  
  
“Who’s we?” Saihara asked. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“All of us!” Iruma said. “Our whole damn class, Dasaihara! We’re gonna have a crazy fuckin’ banger at Big Dick’s house this weekend!”  
  
Saihara started at the words. “Hey, Iruma-san—“  
  
“Whaddaya say, Big Dick?” Iruma asked, beaming up at Gonta. “Wouldn’t it be fuckin’ awesome to have everyone stay with you this weekend instead of just this bitch loser?”  
  
“Well, Gonta is—“  
  
“Great!” Iruma cried, not waiting for an answer. She took one of Gonta’s hands in both of hers and shook it vigorously, smearing mascara up his sleeve. “You won’t regret this shit, big guy! I’ll let everyone know the plans so we can all fuck it up together!”  
  
“Iruma-san!” Saihara repeated, and she finally looked back at him, makeup still everywhere. Saihara physically had to hold in the sound of terror that wanted to escape his mouth. “Don’t you think you should make sure Gonta-kun is okay with this?”  
  
Iruma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, what- _ever_ , you dickhead. Muscles is totally cool with everyone coming over, right? The more the merrier, right, Muscles?”  
  
“Um,” Gonta said. He looked back and forth between Saihara and Iruma rapidly, taking in both their expressions. “Gonta… Gonta guesses so…”  
  
“See?” Iruma trilled. She hit Saihara hard on the shoulder. “See, bitchface? We’re totally cool! Don’t you worry, Big Dick, I’ll let everyone know that we’re meeting at your place at 8:00, Friday!”  
  
Before either of them could respond, Iruma had spun around and stomped her way back to the bathroom. As the door swung closed on the hinges, her voice clearly rang out, “ _ALRIGHT, LADIES! FUCK IT UP FRIDAY AT BIG DICK’S THIS WEEKEND!_ ”  
  
Gonta shot a look at Saihara, who just shrugged. “Um, I think… It’ll probably be fine, Gonta-kun…”  
  
Saihara strained to see if he could hear any sounds coming from the kitchen, but it remained quiet. He sighed. When Akamatsu had approached him the next day, asking if he’d heard about Gonta hosting a party, he’d just nodded; he hadn’t been expecting Iruma to show up with enough booze to kill everyone.  
  
“Ultimate Inventor!” Iruma had cheered, dragging the cases in. “More patents than you’ve got STDs, Bakamatsu!”  
  
Thankfully, no one had managed to perish just yet, but… Saihara blinked hard and focused back on his classmates around the circle.  
  
On his left, Hoshi was nursing a candy cigarette, a solo cup in front of him. Though he seemed to have consumed a considerable amount of beer, he wasn’t looking drunk in the slightest. Next to him was Toujou, who had called the situation immature, yet relented and joined when Iruma screamed, “Yeah, well it’s my fuckin’ request that you fuckin’ join, maid bitch, so sit your ass down!” As far as Saihara could tell, she hadn’t drunk anything.  
  
Beyond Iruma, the neat line of Angie-Yumeno-Chabashira were sitting together. Like Toujou, Angie had abstained from drinking, claiming God would frown down upon her and smite her to Hell if she did. On her other side, Yumeno sat hiccupping, a drink in her hand. Saihara could recall her telling Chabashira that she was an _adult_ , so she was allowed to partake in _adult activities_. Chabashira had clumsily followed after her, matching the girl drink for drink. Though neither of them had had too much in the first place, Yumeno seemed significantly out of it while Chabashira chatted to her rapidly, giggling the whole time. Angie turned to join the one-sided conversation.  
  
“A pitiful attempt,” Shinguuji said on the other side of Akamatsu, and they both looked over. Though he had brought his own flask and it was no longer full, Saihara couldn’t place any point in the night where Shinguuji had actually removed his mask. But Saihara wasn’t stupid enough to ask him about it, either. “Iruma-san is truly making a fool of herself…”  
  
Akamatsu giggled and put a hand over her mouth. As she turned to speak with Shinguuji, Saihara continued his evaluation on the other side of them.  
  
Amami had been a good sport for most of the night; he was definitely drunk, but far from impaired. He’d been striking up genuine conversation with everyone around, and he was doing just that with Shirogane next to him. On her other side, Kiibo sat quietly, the only member of the circle who was giving his full attention to Iruma. And then, next to him, directly across from Saihara, was Ouma.  
  
Saihara squinted over at him. Uncharacteristically, Ouma had been quiet for a better part of the night. He sat with his legs crossed, his hands on his respective knees, and his face flushed red; instead of adding to the commotion around him, he blended in silently, watching it unfold with a vague smile on his face. Saihara could remember his presence at the party, but he seemed sparse after 10:00 PM, which was when…  
  
“You fuckin’ troll!” Iruma had screamed, pointing an accusing finger as Ouma walked through the kitchen door. “I told you to stay the fuck away!”  
  
Ouma giggled and dodged the empty beer can Iruma threw at him. Akamatsu ran over in an attempt to settle Iruma, but she continued to scream, “No one invited you, you little creep! Back the hell off before I—“  
  
“Iruma-san!” Akamatsu said. “Ouma-kun has been here for hours. Gonta-kun invited him. Everything is fine!”  
  
“—kick your ugly ass, you slut wagon!” Iruma kept screaming. Saihara raised his eyebrows at the insult; Harukawa sighed and strode across the kitchen as well.  
  
“Iruma-chan, I’m surprised _you’re_ here,” Ouma started, and Akamatsu whipped her head around towards him to voice her disapproval at the instigation. Disregarding her completely, Ouma continued, “I didn’t know Gonta-kun was friends with dirty, ratty bitches.”  
  
Iruma gasped. “Gonta  _LOVES_ this dirty, ratty bitch!” Before she could struggle too much more, Harukawa wrapped an arm around her throat, which seemed to sedate her.  
  
“You’re fine,” Harukawa said, her tone dry. She was one of the few who’d remained entirely sober. “Calm down, or I’ll snap your neck.”  
  
“E-Eh!?” Iruma let out, standing still in Harukawa’s grasp. “Y-Y-You’ll—“  
  
“Harukawa-san is _not_ going to snap your neck,” Akamatsu assured. She shot a look at Harukawa, who shrugged. “Just calm down, Iruma-san, and we can go someplace else…”  
  
Akamatsu mouthed ‘ _Sorry_ ’ to Saihara over her shoulder, walking with Harukawa to lead Iruma from the room. Saihara smiled in what he hoped looked like understanding and picked his drink up from the ledge he’d set it on.  
  
“Alright!” Momota cheered, spinning around from the table. He was holding a shot glass high in the air. “Got that shit poured, so—hey! Where’d everybody go?” Momota was looking around the room in confusion.  
  
“Really?” Saihara asked, genuinely taken aback. “Momota-kun, did you not hear any of that?” Everyone _outside_ the kitchen probably heard the fussing; Saihara couldn’t fathom that it’d all somehow gone over Momota’s head.  
  
“Of course he didn’t!” Ouma grinned, walking to stand next to Saihara. Saihara finally realized that they were the only three left in the room, and his heart skipped a beat. _Oh, no_. “Momota-chan is dumb as hell normally, so drunk Momota-chan is even worse!”  
  
Momota blinked at Ouma’s appearance, his shot glass still held in the air. “Ouma,” he addressed him, apparently not registering anything Ouma had said.  
  
Saihara took a deep breath. If he’d learned anything spending time around Ouma and Momota, _together_ , it was that they could incite each other to no end. Every interaction was comparable to—what, a ticking time bomb, or something? That’s what Saihara came up with in his semi-buzzed state: a time bomb counting down to some sort of chaotic finale that no one could predict, its remaining seconds dwindling with every passing day. Eventually, it’d have to run out, and then, _what?_ That’d be it? Saihara wasn’t sure; he braced himself for the upcoming exchange.  
  
“That’s me!” Ouma confirmed, framing his smile with his fingers. “Just came to see what you all were up to, but I think I figured it out! Nishishi, Saihara-chan, did you let your friends get too—“  
  
“Hey, man!” Momota cut in, pointing right at Ouma. Ouma looked annoyed at the interruption and turned his head towards him. “While you’re here, might as well take these fuckin’ shots I poured with me! Everybody else decided to pussy out!”  
  
“Momota-kun,” Saihara said, still confused at how Momota managed to miss the whole ordeal with Iruma.  
  
“Is Momota-chan trying to challenge me?” Ouma asked, his expression neutral. He tapped a finger to his chin. “Maybe I was wrong, then… It was impossible for Momota-chan to get dumber.”  
  
“Hey!” Momota yelled, an automatic response to the insult. “I’m not dumb! You’re just sayin’ shit because you know I can outdrink you!” Momota’s words were slurring slightly, and Saihara tried to recount the exact number of shots Momota had taken before this. Definitely more than he should have.  
  
“Who’d want to drink, anyway?” Ouma said, frowning. “Losing self-control, forgetting all the details, acting like Momota-chan… I’d rather pass.”  
  
As Ouma turned back to Saihara, presumably to continue making fun of Momota, Momota exclaimed, “That’s a lie!”  
  
Ouma froze in place. Saihara did as well—he just hadn’t been expecting to hear those words leave Momota’s mouth. Ever.  
  
Ouma turned once more, his eyes fixed on Momota, who was still holding his shot glass in the air. “Momota-chan,” he said, blinking. Apparently, he wasn’t fond of his gimmick being used against him. “What are you rambling about?”  
  
“That’s a fuckin’ lie, dude!” Momota repeated. He finally lowered his arm, though the shot glass remained glued to his hand. “I dunno who the hell told you that, but I’m not forgettin’ any of this. And I’m not losing control, either! Look at me—I’m balancing this shit perfectly!” Momota gestured to the glass with his free hand, displaying that he had not, in fact, spilled any of it. “So just admit that you’re bein’ a coward, or stop spinning lies!”  
  
Saihara wasn’t sure what response he’d been expecting; hostile exchanges between Ouma and Momota were commonplace enough, but Momota’s words had just bordered on something…different? Momota looked bothered, but not very angry. Was he possibly attempting to be constructive? God, that—Saihara shook his head. Momota was always trying to read Ouma’s intentions, and apparently, he’d said something that was near enough to the truth. Ouma hadn’t spoken.  
  
Saihara had just decided to diffuse the situation when Ouma walked straight up to Momota, took the shot out of his hand, and knocked it back.  
  
“Ouma-kun!” Saihara said, in dismay.  
  
“Holy shit!” Momota laughed, nearly doubling over. He’d looked confused the second Ouma approached him, but he seemed delighted with the results. As Momota continued to laugh, Ouma reached over on the table and grabbed another glass. He knocked that shot back as well.  
  
“Ouma-kun!” Saihara said, louder this time. “Those are doubles! Stop!”  
  
Momota was still in hysterics, but Ouma finally looked at Saihara, the empty shot glass in his hand. Saihara couldn’t imagine taking those straight, even if Iruma’s tastes were on the high end. “I’m fine,” Ouma said, his grimace telling a different story.  
  
“Fuck yeah, man!” Momota said, finally managing to pull himself back together. “That’s the coolest fuckin’ way you’ve ever stuck it to me! High five!”  
  
Instead of responding to the gesture, Ouma wiped his mouth and took a step away. He set the glass on the table, then turned to Saihara. “Saihara-chan,” he said, his classic smile mostly back in place. “You haven’t taken four shots before, have you?”  
  
“Not at once,” Saihara admitted. “Or, ever, actually…”  
  
“Well, you’re about to watch this guy do it!” Momota shouted, pumping a fist in the air. Saihara and Ouma both turned to watch Momota repeat the same mistake Ouma had made only a minute prior.  
  
“Momota-kun,” Saihara said, sounding more defeated than distressed at that point.  
  
“Now we match, dude!” Momota said. Ouma looked dumbfounded as Momota reached out and ruffled his hair. “Guess I was the one talking shit. You run a strong challenge!”  
  
“Right,” Ouma said, still seeming dumbfounded. He took a step back, then he headed for the door, clutching his stomach.  
  
“Are—are you alright, Ouma-kun?” Saihara asked. It wasn’t like him to give such a short answer. Ouma walked by him without stopping.  
  
“Fine,” Ouma said, disappearing from the kitchen in an instant. Saihara was caught between following him and helping Momota when Akamatsu and Harukawa walked back through the door.  
  
“Iruma was handled,” Harukawa said bluntly.  
  
“What Harukawa-san _means_ to say,” Akamatsu announced, wrapping an arm around Harukawa and pulling her close. Harukawa looked displeased, but let Akamatsu hold the half-hug until she released her. “Is that Iruma-san is enjoying a nice conversation with Yumeno-san and Hoshi-kun! So—eh? Are you two alright?”  
  
“Never been fuckin’ better!” Momota shouted from behind Saihara. With Momota unable to see his face, Saihara pulled the best desperate expression he could at Akamatsu and Harukawa, hoping they got the meaning. Harukawa stepped forward instantly.  
  
“What did he do,” she said.  
  
“Huh?” Momota asked, and Saihara cringed. “Shuuichi, what’s the matter? Oh, we didn’t save you anything! Fuck, bro, that was dumb of me. Hang on, let me pour—“  
  
“No!” Akamatsu blurted, heading over to Momota. She took the vodka out of his hand, and Saihara could hear her start to make up some excuse as he turned back to Harukawa.  
  
“Um,” Saihara started awkwardly, because he didn’t know how to explain the situation with tact. Harukawa fixed him with a stare. “Momota-kun and Ouma-kun took four shots.”  
  
“What, between them?”  
  
“Each,” Saihara confessed.  
  
Harukawa’s expression remained impassive. “He’s an idiot,” she said after a pause. She stepped around Saihara to where Akamatsu was still stalling Momota.  
  
“Yo, Harumaki!” Momota said. He did something weird with his hands that Saihara could only assume was meant to be some sort of…greeting, or something.  
  
“Shut up,” Harukawa said. She gripped Akamatsu by the elbow. “This idiot took four shots while we were out.”  
  
“Eh?” Akamatsu said, turning back to Momota. “Momota-kun, is that true?”  
  
“Hell yeah it’s true!” Momota proclaimed, looking far too proud of himself. “How about Ouma matched me shot for shot, too! Dude’s like a foot tall, but he—“  
  
“Enough,” Harukawa said. “You’re only going to get worse from here.”  
  
And she’d been right. As the night continued, Saihara saw Ouma less and less, but Momota seemed to be appearing more and more. Or, well, he’d appeared once and remained. He’d put himself at the middle of the room, talking loudly enough to be heard over the music that’d been playing, slurring his words and making less sense as the minutes wore on. Once he accidentally put his foot through a table, Harukawa had angrily dragged him by the back of his coat to the kitchen, a concerned Gonta tagging along after them.  
  
Saihara and Akamatsu had knocked on the connecting window, but Gonta and Harukawa had assured in their sobriety that Momota was being taken care of. With nothing else to offer, they had made their way back to the living room. Not too long after their return, Iruma had stood on a chair and screamed, “ _RIGHT ON, BITCHES!_ You know what time it is!”  
  
Saihara _hadn’t_ known what time it was, actually, when Iruma dumped the contents of a half-filled beer bottle onto the floor. Through the calls and questions about the action, she’d yelled, “We’re playing spin the bottle! I wanna get some hot motherfucking action!”  
  
Saihara had been reluctant to join the circle. As it appeared, he wasn’t the only one, but everyone gathered the same.  
  
“Come on,” Akamatsu had giggled, looking both devious and sheepish. “It would be a little funny to watch what our classmates might get up to, right, Saihara-kun?”  
  
_No_ , Saihara almost responded, but didn’t. He swallowed the response just in time. Akamatsu continued staring up at him, and he’d agreed so as to not disappoint her. Slowly, their other classmates made their way over, and that was how Saihara eventually found himself as part of the group, seated across from Ouma.  
  
_He was drunk_ , Saihara finally pieced together. Whether Ouma had remained silent in an intoxicated state or just chosen to bite his tongue, he was definitely, undoubtedly drunk; four shots had apparently taken their toll on his small frame. As Saihara continued staring in his realization, Ouma caught his eye. Instead of doing something cheeky as he usually might, Ouma just blinked then looked back to Iruma, his dreamy smile still cemented in place. Saihara poked Akamatsu’s side to voice his findings, but as she turned to him, Iruma finally screamed loud enough.  
  
“ _HEY! MOTHERFUCKERS!_ ”  
  
Everyone in the circle effectively flinched at once, turning to face her. Iruma looked pleased with the reaction. “Now you finally fucking listen! God fucking damn!”  
  
“I’ve been listening, Iruma-san!” Kiibo piped up. With Ouma dazed, there was no one to tell him he wasn’t reading the room correctly.  
  
“Well fuck yeah, Kiibs!” Iruma shouted, pointing to him. “My only damn fan around this place!”  
  
“Around any place,” Shinguuji lamented, and Akamatsu giggled again.  
  
“E-Eh?” Iruma said, suddenly looking distressed. “B-Bakamatsu! Y-You thought that was funny?”  
  
“Ah—Iruma-san!” Akamatsu faltered. “That’s not it! I just haven’t heard Shinguuji-kun be mean before…”  
  
“Can we get this over with?” Hoshi asked, his voice low. He tugged his hat a bit further over his eyes. “If you’re planning on saying something, just do it…”  
  
“Hey!” Iruma responded, her usual demeanor back. “Right! What I’m saying is, we need to spice this shit up!”  
  
“Are you in need of something, Iruma-san?” Toujou asked.  
  
“Nothing you could fuckin’ give to me, unless you’re gonna dip me back and kiss me right the fuck now!” Iruma yelled.  
  
Toujou made no move to do so. She blinked at Iruma in silence.  
  
Iruma huffed. “Figures, bitch. Either way, you jizzheads are being some goddamn sad-sacks tonight! Where’s all the making out and shit!? None of you have fuckin’ been fun!”  
  
Iruma wasn’t wrong, technically; since the circle had been formed, the bottle had spun a total of four times. Angie had enthusiastically kissed Chabashira on the forehead, who turned into a puddle of embarrassment not soon after. Chabashira pulled herself together to kiss Toujou’s cheek, who kissed Amami’s hand, who kissed Kiibo on the nose. Akamatsu had been giggling next to Saihara the whole time, and he’d been watching in both amusement and anxiety. Probably, it was the beer doing it; Akamatsu wasn’t normally so giggly, and he’d have refused the first offer outright, but… It was fun enough. Well, not to Iruma.  
  
“Seriously!” she was still chattering, waving wildly around at everyone. “None of you can fucking kiss each other! How fucking pathetic is that!? You’d be _lucky_ to get a piece of my hot ass, but instead, you’re fawning like petty, little bitches! What the hell do you think of yourselves!?”  
  
“I have self-respect!” Angie said.  
  
“Shut the fuck up!” Iruma fumed. “You’re all a bunch of—“  
  
At that moment, a banging sound echoed around the room. Everyone started again as Momota lurched through the doorway, a smile on his face as if he hadn’t broken a table 30 minutes prior.  
  
No one moved.  
  
As Momota took in the group’s arrangement, none of them speaking up, the smile dropped from his face.  
  
“Oh, hell,” he said, looking around. “Don’t tell me this is some sort of summoning bullshit!”  
  
“Sadly not,” Saihara heard Shinguuji sigh.  
  
Harukawa followed quickly through the door as Momota made his way over, Gonta running out right after her.  
  
“Momota-kun!” Gonta said.  
  
“Momota,” Harukawa stressed. “Come back—“  
  
“No way, Mom!” Momota slurred, standing behind Akamatsu. Saihara looked up at him, concerned. “You either, Dad! They forced so much water on me!” Momota said, now directing his words to Saihara. “You couldn’t believe it, Shuuichi. That was like being tortured!”  
  
Saihara could believe it. Apparently, Gonta and Harukawa had not only been containing Momota, but trying to sober him up. It appeared to have worked...decently, maybe?  
  
“Momota-kun!” Gonta said again, sounding nervous. “Gonta just wanted you to be safe. Harukawa-san said you took too many alcohols!”  
  
“Alcohol, shmalcohol,” Momota mocked, waving Gonta off. He turned to inspect the circle, squinting in the dim light. “The hell is all this?”  
  
“Weak bitch central!” Iruma cried, pointing at him. “I’ve been trying to get these dumbasses to play spin the bottle with me for ages, but they’re all just cuddling around like shitty one-night stands instead!”  
  
Momota turned back around to stare at the center of the circle, where the bottle was indeed resting. Saihara didn’t like the way his face lit up in recognition.  
  
“Oh, that’s fucking lame!” Momota laughed, once he’d spotted it. “None of you are playing it the right way? Really? You haven’t laid one on anyone, Shuuichi?”  
  
“No!” Saihara asserted, the defense instinctive. He wasn’t planning on it, and truly, he didn’t think anyone else was. They were just entertaining Iruma, and when she got bored, they would all disperse—  
  
“I’ll fuckin’ do it, then!” Momota declared. As he took a step into the middle of the circle, Harukawa was suddenly crouched behind Saihara and Akamatsu.  
  
“He’s better,” Harukawa said, “but not great. At least he’s not plastered anymore, but I can’t stop him from being an idiot.”  
  
“That’s true,” Akamatsu smiled, and the three of them watched Momota kick the bottle with his foot, his slipper flying straight up in the air. Chabashira caught it just before it hit Yumeno, who was nodding off. As she began yelling her disapproval, Momota stumbled back to push Saihara and Akamatsu apart, sitting himself right between them.  
  
“Momota-kun,” Saihara said, watching the bottle spin rapidly in front of them. “Are you sure you’re—“  
  
“Fuckin’ perfect, Shuuichi!” he smiled, leaning over to tap Saihara on the nose. Saihara blinked at the gesture, then ducked when Chabashira whipped Momota’s slipper back at him.  
  
“K-Keep your degenerate shoes away from Yumeno-san!” Chabashira yelled. She put an arm around Yumeno’s shoulder, who finally seemed to wake from her daze. “Tenko knows you’re trying to kill her with your—“  
  
“Huh?” Yumeno asked, rubbing her eyes. “He killed me?”  
  
“It was an accident!” Momota yelled back, and as the two fired up an impromptu argument, Saihara fixed his eyes back on the turning bottle. Next to him, Akamatsu and Harukawa were conversing quietly, and the others all seemed distracted by Chabashira and Momota calling back and forth, with Yumeno interjecting. Only Saihara was watching as the bottle gradually slowed, its revolutions diminishing more and more until finally, it came to a stop.  
  
Ouma was blinking at the neck of the bottle, pointed directly towards him.  
  
_Oh_ , Saihara thought, his mind backtracking to earlier. Was _that_ what happened, then?  
  
“Momota-kun,” Saihara heard himself say, not quite sure what had possessed him to do so. Surprise, maybe, or—no, he wasn’t sure. “Momota-kun,” he repeated, louder, and Momota looked back to him.  
  
“What is it, man? I’m tryin’ to—“  
  
The way Momota noticed the bottle, traced down to its narrowest point with his eyes, then tilted his head up to face Ouma was almost comical. Saihara had to bite down another nervous laugh as Momota and Ouma just looked at each other.  
  
“Oh, fuck yeah!” Iruma screamed, just as Momota screamed, “Oh, hell no!”  
  
Across the circle, Ouma was raising his eyebrows; it was the most emotion Saihara had witnessed on him in the past couple hours. Momota was shaking his head as Iruma cackled and tipped back to the floor.  
  
“No fucking way!” Momota complained, his voice whiny. “I’m not fuckin’ kissing Ouma! I’ll—I’ll go again! I swear, I’ll—“  
  
“ _HAHAHA!_ ” Iruma was still hollering, reduced to rolling around at that point. Either something else had just kicked in with her, or she truly did find the situation that hilarious; Saihara suspected it was a bit of both.  
  
Around them, their other classmates were beginning to laugh as well, a mixture of surprise, fervor, and nerves.  
  
“No more confidence, Momota-kun?” Shirogane taunted. Her voice broke into something high as she let out a strained giggle. “Th-That’s so funny! He said—“  
  
“He did say he would kiss someone,” Kiibo confirmed, placing a hand on Shirogane’s shoulder. Saihara was silently relieved that someone was trying to contain her. “Momota-kun, why the cold feet?”  
  
“I—it’s just—that’s not—“ Momota stuttered, looking around at the accusing faces. In the background, Saihara recognized that the music was still thrumming lowly, though he seemed to have blocked it out for the most part. Momota kicking the door in had distracted him. “I didn’t think it’d be fuckin’ Ouma!”  
  
“Way to go, dipshit!” Iruma jeered, finally pulling herself up. “Talked a mad game, now you have to pay for it! Let’s go, motherfucker!”  
  
“Idiot,” Harukawa said on the other side of Akamatsu. “I told you, he’s an—“  
  
“I get it,” Ouma said softly. At his voice, the circle seemed to fall silent at once; though he was the one on the other end of the bottle, his presence had almost been forgotten entirely. Everyone watched him then, though, with bated breath.  
  
“...Get what?” Momota finally asked, rubbing the back of his head. If anything had effectively sobered him up, it was the past couple minutes.  
  
Ouma’s face contorted into a dark smile, his previous relaxed-state dissipating. The room remained silent as he lifted a finger to his lips, his eyes more mischievous than ever.  
  
“Momota-chan is a pussy!”  
  
“Huh!?” Momota called, and the circle deteriorated into more hysterics around him. Saihara just sighed, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. Akamatsu had chosen to laugh, apparently, and Harukawa’s voice rang out, “Pathetic.”  
  
“Momota-chan is a little coward bitch!” Ouma continued, his face still flushed deep red. “Saying he’ll kiss someone, then backing out! Nishishi, that’s the true mark of a loser! Returning on his word! Whatever happened to being in control, Momota-chan?” Ouma provoked, still rambling on. “What an idiot, huh!”  
  
“Shut up!” Momota demanded, now looking very red as well. “Th-That’s not it! I—I would never—!”  
  
“Never what?” Ouma taunted, starting to snicker into his hand alongside the others. His voice soon joined the overwhelming roar of sound around them, as he laughed harder and harder. “M-Momota-chan is just a wimp!” Ouma cried, hardly containing himself at that point. “He’s just—“  
  
“Fuck off!” Momota yelled, sitting up on his knees.  
  
“A little—“  
  
“I _said, fuck off!_ ”  
  
“Pussy bi—!“  
  
Ouma’s voice broke into a gasp as Momota lunged across the circle at him. Somewhere along the way, Momota’s leg must have hit the bottle, because it was ricocheting backwards to smack off of Saihara’s knees. He picked it up, and then he lifted his eyes just in time to watch Momota grab both sides of Ouma’s face and pull him into a rough kiss.  
  
Chabashira screamed as they collided near her. The sound of their teeth clicking was audible, and Saihara winced. _That had to have hurt_ , he thought, and then he could hear nothing over their friends and classmates screaming around him. Akamatsu was laughing so totally that she was nearly horizontal to the floor, and Harukawa just rolled her eyes. Next to him, Hoshi sighed out, “Figures,” then lifted his cup to drink. Before Saihara could think too much about that, Momota was pulling back, looking thoroughly dazed. Though Saihara couldn’t see Ouma on the other side of Momota, he assumed he must’ve been the same way; neither of them were moving.  
  
“That’s,” Momota said, then cleared his throat. He dropped his hands from where they still gripped Ouma’s jaw. “There.”  
  
Momota shook himself and began making his way back to their side of the circle, and Saihara finally got a look at Ouma’s face; he was flushed even deeper, if that were possible, with his lips slightly parted. He lifted a finger to his mouth and touched it, as if not sure what had just happened.  
  
_Yeah_ , Saihara was convinced, _that was it_. He could put his age-old mystery to rest.  
  
Momota reseated himself between Saihara and Akamatsu, the latter patting him cheerfully on the back. “Good sportsmanship, Momota-kun!” Akamatsu smiled, and Harukawa rolled her eyes again.  
  
“Sportsmanship,” Harukawa repeated, shaking her head. “Is that what that was?”  
  
From the other side, Ouma was apparently regaining his senses as well. “Momota-chan is a bad kisser!” he shouted abruptly. All eyes were back on Ouma, who was sounding more like himself by the minute. “Nishishi, I knew you’d be—“  
  
“Shut up!” Momota was yelling again, flustered. “Th-That was a bad angle! I could kiss the living fucking daylights out of you!”  
  
“Momota-kun,” Saihara said, placing a hand on Momota’s shoulder. He had finally found his voice, and Momota looked over at him, seeming more out of it than ever; if landing on Ouma had sobered him up, then kissing Ouma had reversed that response completely. “You okay?” Saihara asked, and Momota nodded.  
  
“Uh,” he said, then paused. Momota broke eye contact to stare at the ground. “Yeah, I’m…okay, Shuuichi.”  
  
“ _MY TURN!_ ” Iruma boomed, leaning forward on her hands and knees to yank the bottle away from Saihara.  
  
“No fair!” Shirogane pouted. “It’s Ouma-kun’s turn! He should get to go first! Plus, we owe Kiibo—“  
  
“Which one of you lucky bastards are gonna have the chance to fuck _THIS?_ ” Iruma punctuated by gesturing to herself, ignoring Shirogane.  
  
“No fucking!” Angie gasped, grabbing Iruma by the shoulder. “God says—“  
  
“Fuck God! I’m getting laid tonight!” Iruma laughed, spinning the bottle violently.  
  
As it slid out of control, hitting sideways against Kiibo’s foot, and their classmates began to laugh again, Saihara looked over at Momota. Though everyone else’s attention was directed to Iruma’s attempt at jumping Kiibo, Momota was staring right across the circle, his eyes narrowed and fixed on Ouma. Ouma was staring back at Momota, though looking far more gratified; whatever was passing between them was happening openly, in front of everybody, and none of them had noticed. The two remained silent as the surrounding noise grew louder.  
  
“Hell yeah!” Iruma was shouting, pulling herself up off of Kiibo, who was looking like he’d forgotten where he was. “I kissed a fucking robot! None of you else can say that!”  
  
“I can,” Amami smiled, toasting his drink for some reason.  
  
“None of you else having fucking _MADE OUT_ with a robot,” Iruma corrected, winking at Kiibo. Saihara hadn’t witnessed that one as it happened, but he assumed there was far less mutualism to it than Iruma claimed. “You can pump oil to that one for weeks, buddy!”  
  
“Iruma-san!” Kiibo said, gaining enough awareness of his surroundings. He suddenly appeared the correct amount of embarrassed. As he ducked his head away from the attention, Iruma rolled the bottle over towards Ouma. Ouma didn’t respond, as he was focused on something else.  
  
“There you go, twink,” Iruma snorted, leaning back as Ouma remained still. “Not sorry for jacking your turn! Got caught up in the moment!”  
  
Ouma finally blinked, looking down at the bottle in front of him. Without saying a word, he placed it back in the center of the circle, then spun it.  
  
“Down to business!” Akamatsu said, and Saihara turned towards her. Their other classmates began to chat normally as well. “Do you think Ouma-kun is—“  
  
Ouma lifted his hand above the bottle and smacked it down, timed perfectly to stop it as it pointed towards Momota. Before anyone could comment—it was a rather impressive move, actually, Saihara thought—Ouma was across the circle, a perfect recreation of Momota’s actions minutes prior. Saihara, also reenacting the incident, let out a sound similar to Chabashira’s as he realized what was happening. He dove out of the way.  
  
The two collapsed next to him, Ouma’s arms around Momota’s shoulders, Momota’s arms around Ouma’s back. As they toppled, Momota’s one remaining shoe flew off of his foot and up into the air; Angie yelped, but Saihara paid it no attention. Though the lighting was dim, he'd gotten a single glimpse of their faces before they were concealed—Momota looking alarmed, Ouma looking determined, both their eyelids falling shut just as Ouma moved in.  
  
“What the fuck!” Iruma screamed, and the circle burst into tumult again as Ouma kissed Momota on the mouth.  
  
“That’s—!” Saihara started, almost panicked. He should have braced for it; he’d been the only one to see it coming. After a beat, instead of pushing Ouma away, Momota seemed to respond by holding him tighter. “Hey, they’re—!”  
  
“Leave it,” Harukawa said, curt. “I told you. Can’t stop him from being an idiot.”  
  
“Ouma-kun!” Gonta was calling, concern lacing his voice. “H-Hey, Momota-kun! Ouma-kun! Are you alright!?”  
  
“Leave it,” Harukawa repeated, reaching over a gawking Akamatsu to put a hand on Saihara’s shoulder. Saihara didn’t think he could have intervened anyways; pushed back on the ground before him, Momota and Ouma seemed effectively dead to the world that did not include each other.  
  
“I… I am,” Saihara sighed, pushing his beer to the side. He would leave it for now, he thought, as one of Momota’s hands worked its way up to tangle through Ouma’s hair. He just was not looking forward to the inevitable, awkward conversation he’d need to have with the two of them tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> the goal was to write ouma and momota from saihara's perspective, but then i just had too much fun writing him in general. nice job with your wild friends, detective jr.


End file.
